


Final Spark

by scoradh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoradh/pseuds/scoradh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody has one thing in their life that they can always count on. For Lily, that one thing is the utter obnoxiousness of a certain James Potter. And it's never going to change...</p><p>Written in October 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Spark

_I temporarily forgot there's better days to come_

_I thought that I would give it just one more chance_

\-- DIDO

 

 

 

There were three things very wrong with Lily Evans' life.

The first was that James Potter fancied her. This was one of the Big Ones. Potter had plagued her relentlessly from the very first time she'd stepped over the Hogwarts threshold and into a shower of water-bombs that he'd fashioned out of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Of course, she hadn't been the only one to get caught in the cross-fire that day. Many people's earliest memories of Hogwarts revolved around getting a huge wad of something sticky and blue in their faces. However, she _had_ been the only one to stride over to the sniggering boy -- her eyes ablaze, her hair full of gum, trailing puddles of water -- and slap him full in the face.

It had only scaled up from there.

She'd spent the first four years of her career at Hogwarts fending off practical jokes from Potter and his gang of sycophantic drones. To be fair, Lupin wasn't bad if you got him on his own, gave him a book and sat him down in a quiet corner for about an hour. Sadly, his friends had a nose for rooting him out and dragging him back into the fray. Then, in fifth year, just when Lily thought she had conquered them, Potter changed tack.

Lily was certain, right to the marrow of her bones, that Potter had only started the lovesick-puppy charade to irritate the living daylights out of her.

It worked, too.

The second thing wrong with her life was that she had an extremely long and extremely complicated Transfiguration essay due for Wednesday. It was now Monday evening and she still hadn't started it. It wasn't like her to be so behind on her work, but she'd become absorbed in a project for Professor Flitwick on Fidelius Charms and hadn't noticed the time passing.

Of all her NEWT subjects, Lily was weakest at Transfiguration. She knew she wouldn't be able to rustle up an essay just like _that_ for the subject. This fact only made it a thousand times more irritating to watch Potter on Sunday evening, as he took a break from a raucous game of Exploding Snap with that exasperating Black to grab a quill and pull seventeen inches out of nowhere in half-an-hour.

Lily was grinding her teeth just thinking about it _._ She was lucky she had any teeth left, in fact, what with all the grinding she did in Potter's irksome presence -- and he was _always_ around. By rights she should be left with only little blackened stubs at this stage. It was a thought, actually; if her teeth turned black perhaps Potter would leave her alone. Lily made a mental note to look into Teeth-Aging Charms. _After_ she finished her Transfig essay, that is, if she ever did.

The third and final thing wrong was that there was a spot on her cheek. Right beside her left nostril. Not a small one, either, but a large, red, throbbing pustule. Lily knew she shouldn't have touched it, but she couldn't help thinking, in the primeval logic that dictates in such situations, that if she just pushed it a little it would go back in.

It hadn't.

Lily had gone through a phase, when she was about fourteen, of getting whole outcrops of pimples along her hairline and on her forehead. Potter had teased her mercilessly about them. She could still remember the hurt and shame of being called 'Pimple-face' in front of a whole classroom, while Potter leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, nodding triumphantly to a sniggering Black and a panting Pettigrew and a Lupin who refused to meet his eye.

Potter had never had acne; nor had Black. Lily had thought this a cosmic unfairness, but in fact every child brought up in a wizarding family knew about Mandrake juice acne cream. It was only when Jamila Vakil heard Lily sobbing in the middle of the night that she realised that Lily had been far more wounded by Potter's words than her indifferent attitude would suggest.

 

The Vakils were a pureblood family and Jamila loaned Lily some Mandrake cream the very next day. Lily, who'd been friendly with all the girls in her year before but never best friends with anyone, was best friends with Jamila from that day on.

The problem with Mandrake cream, though, was that it was a very astringent mixture. It was designed to be used sparingly, once a month or so. Otherwise, skin tended to suffer reactions to the acid, which often left worse scarring than acne. Lily could feel the spot throbbing, but she didn't dare to put any Mandrake on it. It was just one spot, after all.

She wasn't going to squeeze it, either! She wasn't. She wasn't. Lily repeated the mantra in her head until she was satisfied that she had talked herself out of such a foolhardy course of action.

It didn't solve any of her problems, though. Her essay lay before her, exactly two sentences and four words long. Her spot was still there. And James Potter didn't look ready to give up tormenting her any time soon.

Such a state of affairs, Lily decided, called for only one resolution. Chocolate.

* * *

Lily left her writing materials in the alcove where she'd been writing, confident in the knowledge that no one would disturb a NEWT student's study area. When she entered the dormitory, Jamila was already dressed for bed, in red satin pyjamas that set off her silky curtain of black hair and honey-coloured skin to perfection. Lily often thought that if Jamila wasn't such a sweet-natured person -- and, it had to be admitted, not the world's greatest scholar -- Lily would have been extremely jealous of her. As it was, a little flame of envy always burned when Lily compared Jamila's petite beauty to her own ordinary self, but it was inevitably tamped when Jamila's face lit up on spotting her friend.

"Hey, Lily!" she called, waving her over with her hairbrush. One of Jamila's little foibles was her habit of brushing her hair a hundred times before bed. Jamila would often abandon an essay that was overdue because she was too tired to finish it, but she could have been suffering from acute exhaustion and she would still demand a hairbrush to finish off the day's toilette.

"How's it going, Vakil?" Lily returned. She sat down on Jamila's bed and began pulling her own long hair out of its tight bun.

"Fine," said Jamila. She stifled a yawn with a perfectly manicured hand. "Did you get your Transfiguration essay done?"

"You had to bring it up, didn't you?" groaned Lily. "No. I haven't even started it, to be brutally honest."

"Really, Lilian," Jamila admonished, tapping Lily on the head with her hairbrush. "I am all astonishment. Are you in love?"

"Lily," Lily reminded her. "I'm not in love, Jamila. Why do you always insist on thinking that's the cause of every scholastic crisis?"

"Because it always is," said Jamila, pursing her lips. "Well -- it is for me, anyway."

"Poor Lupin," said Lily. "How much of your work does he do? Fifty percent?"

"More like ? all of it?" said Jamila vaguely.

Lily couldn't help but smile. "He really is too nice for his own good. Well," she amended, "nice, but still morally bankrupt. He never stands up to those naked apes masquerading as his friends. But he'd _have_ to be nice to put up with them teasing him all the time."

"James and Sirius _are_ a torment," agreed Jamila. "And Remus _is_ very nice. I've offered to pay him for tutoring me, you know, but he won't take any money. He says it's good practice, because he wants to be a teacher."

"Indeed," said Lily. She couldn't stop her lips from quirking. "You don't think he might have other, rather less philanthropic motives?"

"Oh, Lilian," sighed Jamila. "Remus knows as well as you do that I'm betrothed to Ormus Patil. I don't think --" She paused, then shook her head resolutely, so that her hair flew to and fro like a black waterfall. "No, Lily, no."

"The thing is, though," said Lily, her fingers creeping over to snatch the hairbrush out of Jamila's hand, "that Ormus Patil is at the Bombay Magician's Guild, and you and Lupin are at Hogwarts. I somehow don't think Ormus would ever find out if, say, you went to Hogsmeade with Lupin once or twice."

"Perhaps not," said Jamila. She was smiling a little. "But the fact remains that I have not been invited to Hogsmeade by anyone, much less by Remus."

"Hmm," said Lily.

"May I have my brush back?" Jamila inquired.

"I'm conducting hostage negotiations," Lily informed her. "I may be induced to return the victim in return for sufficient chocolate ransom."

"Honestly, Lilian," said Jamila, in a pained tone of voice, "if you wanted chocolate, you need only to have asked. There was no reason to bring my hairbrush into it."

Rolling her large dark eyes, Jamila leaned over the side of the bed and extracted a large, ornate cardboard box on which obese angels, unrealistic hearts and gold foil played exciting and key parts.

"Oh, beauty, thy name is Wienrich and Boettcher," groaned Lily. Jamila giggled.

"Certainly one of its less well-known names, don't you think?"

Jamila's family, as well as being pureblood and apparently universally blessed with impeccable genetics, were filthy rich. Her father had migrated to England after the Muggle Second World War, but the rest of his family remained behind in Bombay, running a lucrative real estate business. Aziz Vakil was the youngest son of four, the apple of his mother's eye and, as far as Lily could tell, a congenial but useless sort of person. He'd received a large share of the family fortune on his marriage and his sole occupation seemed to be to spend it in the most frivolous way possible. He spoiled his only daughter unmercifully, but it passed over Jamila's head for the most part and she was charmingly eager to share the spoils of being spoiled.

Lily stoutly refused most of her offerings, but it would take a will of iron and possibly raging diabetes to resist the lure of Wienrich and Boettcher chocolates. Besides, Lily had a hidden weakness for strawberry crèmes. They were the ones Jamila liked least, which helped.

"If for nothing else, I adore you for your chocolates," admitted Lily.

"But there is something else, isn't there?" asked Jamila. She sounded worried.

"Of course, you silly goose," said Lily, with as much affection as she could manage through a rich melting mouthful of pink goo. "You're the nicest and most generous person I've ever met and I'd trust you with anything."

"Even information on who you fancy?" said Jamila, her eyes narrowing.

Lily choked. "Who I fancy? What are you talking about? I don't fancy anyone!"

"But if you _did_ , you would tell me, wouldn't you?" Jamila persisted. "I mean --" A pink tinge suffused her cheeks "-- I'd tell _you._ "

Lily snorted. "Believe me, when the time comes that I do fancy someone, you'll be the first -- and, most likely, the last -- to know. Satisfied?"

"Yes," said Jamila. She selected a chocolate-covered coffee bean and popping it into her rosebud mouth.

An almighty clattering arose from the other end of the dormitory. Jamila and Lily shared long-suffering smiles.

"Hello Sarah, Patty," called Lily.

"Hey, bitches!" bellowed Sarah, striding down between the beds with the clang of steel-capped boots against floorboards. "What delightful sins have you been committing in my absence?"

Sarah had been brought up by strict Catholic Muggle parents, who had been horrified to learn that their daughter was a witch. Sarah had thought it the greatest joke ever. She thought most things were.

Patty trailed after her, smiling her nervous smile. Lily often felt sorry for Patty, although she felt fed up with her more often. Patty thought she was ugly, which was silly, and that she was fat -- but she was only a little pudgy, and had nothing like Sarah's momentous height or girth -- and also that everyone hated her when in fact people only tended to become weary of her endless self-flagellation.

Lily would have thought that having a boyfriend would have bolstered Patty's opinion of herself a bit, but then again, her boyfriend _was_ Peter Pettigrew. It couldn't be more obvious that both of them had taken what they could get and not what they really wanted. The annoying thing was, if Patty would only stand up straight and relax and smile more, she'd be an attractive girl. She probably could even have got Sirius Black -- _not_ that _that_ would have been an achievement of any great note, Lily reminded herself. Sirius Black was the school bicycle, and as such 'discerning,' if it appeared on the list of his attributes at all, would be at the very, very bottom and hitting bedrock.

"Oh, all of them," Lily answered Sarah's question. Sarah was as odd as two left shoes, but she was terminally cheerful. "Or at least, as many as we could fit into half-an-hour."

"You'd be surprised, eh, old chap?" said Sarah, winking and throwing herself onto her bed with a distinct creak of springs. "You doing some kind of Transfig essay, Evans?"

"Yes, why?" Lily felt rather surprised. Sarah didn't take Transfiguration and she rarely paid much attention to schoolwork in general, regarding it as something to be avoided whenever possible.

"Oh, Potter was reading it aloud to Black," Sarah tossed off carelessly, engrossed in untying her eighteen-hole bootlaces.

" _What_!" Lily jumped up, feeling herself go red with rage. She hated when that happened, because she looked like a walking tomato. Unsurprisingly, Potter was usually the basis of her vegetable-metamorphoses.

"Lilian, don't!" cried Jamila, knowing only too well the cutting arguments the Head Girl and Boy engaged in when there was no one around to hold Lily back. No one ever tried to hold James back, because it was generally accepted that his friends were prats -- Sirius -- or spineless -- Peter and Remus.

It was too late; Lily, her hair flying wild and free, had taken a dive for the stairs to the common room and was beyond all mortal aid.

Jamila sighed and looked glumly at her box of chocolates. Lily had eaten the last strawberry crème and Jamila wasn't due another box for a fortnight. She had no idea what she was going to use to smooth over Lily's ruffled feathers when she returned from her latest fracas with James.

"That Potter's a bit of a pill, isn't he?" remarked Sarah, apropos of nothing.

"If only," said Jamila. "Pills can be swallowed. Or crushed up and put in a glass of water to dissolve. Potter is nothing like so easy."

"What does Lily see in him, then?" Sarah wanted to know.

"Blinding, red rage, I believe," said Jamila, with a thin smile.

Sarah's brow wrinkled, but Jamila had resumed brushing her hair and as such would be incommunicado to anyone but Lily for a good hour. Sarah wondered if she'd got the wrong end of the stick, which was entirely possible.

Shrugging, she returned to the chaotic complexity that was her bootlaces.

* * *

Lily stormed into the common room and caught Potter red-handed. He was in declaiming mode, but he couldn't have been at it for very long, given the brevity of Lily's essay. All the same, he appeared to be milking every word for all its worth.

"Red alert," she heard Black mutter. Potter immediately dropped his arms and stuck the hand holding her essay behind his back, adopting an expression of meek innocence which, given that even in the womb Potter had been neither meek nor innocent, was in essence a bleak failure.

Lily chewed her lip to prevent herself from spewing out all the obscenities that were clamouring in her brain in front of the first-years.

"Nice essay, Evans," said Potter in earnest tones. "I mean, you're clearly valuing quality over quantity --"

Lily's teeth were leaving indents in the insides of her cheeks as she strode up to Potter, reached around behind him and ripped the parchment from his hands. She was shaking with suppressed rage.

"You know, Evans," Potter was continuing, clearly because he harboured some sort of suicidal tendency, "I could -- er -- give you a hand with that if you want --"

Black sniggered. That, for Lily, was the last straw. She could have handled the situation with something approaching grace, and at least in silence, if Black hadn't made her absolutely certain that they were both mobbing her up.

"Potter," said Lily, in a voice that almost squeaked with anger and probably, if not examined too closely, passed for sweet, "I do not want a hand from you. I do not want anything from you. In fact, I would like it very much if you did not exist in my world _at all_. I told you at the beginning of the year that you were to confine your comments to me to matters pertaining to the Headship. I am at a loss to see what my essay has to do with that. I feel that it has _nothing at all to do with it._ Perhaps you need a reminder? Is some sort of memo in order?"

Her voice had scaled up as she spoke and at last she had to break off to catch her breath. She stood panting and glaring directly into his face; it was terribly annoying that he was exactly the same height as her, particularly as Lily was quite tall herself. It would have given her some small measure of satisfaction if the growth spurt Potter had been anticipating for years had never occurred, but the powers that be had refused to take pity on her.

"Um, no?" Potter ventured, going for the safe option.

"Excellent," said Lily, with a wide, false smile. "So you're clear, then. You are not to speak to me again, ever, under any circumstances, unless Dumbledore asks you to or you have a question for the Head Girl. Good."

Potter ruffled the back of his hair, looking uncertain. Lily _hated_ when he did that and she _hated_ the way his hazel eyes would go sort of opaque behind his glasses when he was around her. She hated him so much she could barely contain it and if she didn't leave _now_ she wouldn't be able to keep the desire to smack him in the mouth under any sort of control.

"Er," he began, and Lily turned on her heel with a yelp of fury and hurried away.

* * *

James watched her leave in typical bemusement.

Sirius smirked at him from the sofa, on to which he'd thrown himself with no care for its current -- and now previous -- occupants. He'd taken to wearing Remus' jeans under his robes. Given the length of his legs, they gave him the appearance of a disturbingly attractive spider. He rustled the _Daily Prophet_ sports pages and remarked, "That was smooth, mate."

"Oh, shut up," snapped James. "You were no help."

"Sorry, was I supposed to be?" said Sirius, making a moue of his mouth. James debated throwing something at him, but there was nothing to hand except Lily's desk and even Sirius' patented ducking skills would be put to the test by that one.

James flumped onto the sofa, on top of Sirius' legs. With a grunt of annoyance, Sirius drew them out and curled them underneath himself. James buried his messy head in his hands.

"What am I going to do?" he demanded, his words muffled by his fingers.

"Didn't quite catch that," said Sirius, yanking the horoscopes from under James' thigh.

"I _said_ , what am I going to do?" yelled James. Sirius winced.

"Right, I'm here, not in Qualalumpur," he pointed out. "Also, I'm lost. Do about what, exactly?"

"Lily, you dolt!" exclaimed James. This earned him some rolled eyes from the assembled first-years. "What are you making faces for?" he directed to them. "Shouldn't you be in bed? Yes, you should. Skedaddle!"

With a few grumbles, they did his bidding, although not with as much alacrity as James could have desired.

"Now," he addressed Sirius, "you're basically the expert on girl's minds around here. Tell me, what I am I doing wrong?"

"Existing, I gather," Sirius suggested. At James' grimace, he added, "Look, I actually don't know that much about girls' minds, Prongs. Only their knickers and the getting into of. For psychology you need Moony. He knows _all_ the theory," he finished with an unkind grin.

James walloped him, but not with much feeling. He was too distracted, although Sirius, being permanently cock-of-the-walk, surely deserved a good duffing-up at any given time.

"Where is Moony, then?" he asked. Sirius shrugged.

"The library," they chorused together. James shook his head. "If it was anyone else, I'd say he's shacking up with some girl between the stacks, but the only reason he ever takes girls there is to _actually_ tutor them."

"Yes," agreed Sirius. He locked his hands behind his head and whacked James in the face with his elbow. "He's such a disgrace. He's learned nothing, absolutely nothing, from me."

"On the contrary, there's not much to learn and I've memorised it," a dry voice came from behind them. Sirius whirled around with a guilty expression, hitting James a second clout. James groaned quietly.

"Yes," Remus confirmed, sitting in an armchair and picking at his holey woollen jumper. He always changed out of his robes after class ended, although he'd soon have to take up wearing them full-time unless Sirius deigned to return some of his jeans to him. "You have about one tenet, Sirius Black -- treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen, right?" His quiet tones leant something of his innate revulsion to the phrase, but not quite enough to affect Sirius in any lasting way.

"Well ? it works," Sirius defended himself.

"It does," Remus allowed. "That is one of the sad things about humanity, I think."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd --" began Sirius, but James, irritable enough about eating Sirius' elbow twice, wasn't about to let him start casting aspersions on his and Remus' virginity.

"Quality, not quantity," he interrupted in a fierce voice.

Sirius rolled his eyes, but wisely forbore to say anything. He wasn't the most sensitive of beings, but even he knew that there were some buttons you just didn't push. At least, not too often.

"Anyone seen Wormtail?" he asked instead.

"Is he with Patricia, maybe?" suggested Remus.

"Nah, I saw her going upstairs before -- erm, Lily came down." James' voice trailed off to a mumble, but Remus' shrewd eyes had already spotted his blush.

"What did you do _this_ time, James?" he sighed.

"What do you mean? How do you know I did anything?" James protested.

"Call it an educated guess," said Remus, the sides of his mouth twitching. "So Lily came down and you ignored her entirely, is it?"

"Not quite," James muttered. "She ?"

"She told him to bugger off in no uncertain terms," Sirius supplied helpfully.

"Well, she didn't put it like _that_ ," James objected.

"That was the nub and gist of it, mate," said Sirius, studying his knuckles.

James harrumphed. "You get the picture, Moony. Sirius said I should ask you what I'm doing wrong. And _don't_ say existing. That's taken."

"I wasn't going to," Remus assured him, although his brown eyes were glinting suspiciously. "To be honest, James, everything you've ever said to Lily has been the wrong thing to say --"

"What, _everything_?"

"How do I put this?" said Remus. " _Yes_. You spent the first four years of school mocking everything she said, did, wore and wrote, and then you spent the next two fawning over her in a what is a most despicable manner, really. The beginning notwithstanding, a girl like Lily doesn't want to be treated like she's some kind of fragile doll."

"Not like Vakil, eh?" Sirius butted in, waggling his eyebrows.

"Exactly,' said Remus, sounding unperturbed. "All girls are different, naturally, but there are some general types. Lily's fiercely independent. She probably wants to be treated as an equal, if not a superior. And, James, you bought her a _teddy bear_ last Valentine's Day."

"It was a nice teddy bear," said James defensively.

Remus struggled visibly. "Yes, it was," he managed at last. "And it would have been perfect, if Lily was five. But she's not. Do you get what I'm driving at, here?"

James shook his head. "Um. Bigger teddy bears?"

"No!" exclaimed Remus. "Forget teddy bears altogether. Pretend they were never invented. Look, this is how it is: You don't have the right to buy Lily anything. You aren't her boyfriend and she doesn't fancy you. I'd hazard a guess that she was pretty insulted when you bought her that."

"I wouldn't even have to guess." Sirius sniggered. "I saw her face that morning."

Remus shook his head at Sirius. James was looking utterly woebegone.

"Perhaps you should just move on, James," said Remus. "This crush has gone critical. I think you need to re-evaluate why you fancy her in the first place. Because in the first place, back at the very start, you seemed to hate her guts. Why else would you torment her so?"

James bit his lip.

"Have a bit of a think," said Remus in a kind voice. "There's plenty of girls in Hogwarts who don't have such close and personal knowledge of what an utter bastard you can be. Better to start small, eh?"

"Yes, do. I'm tired of hanging around virgins all the time," complained Sirius. "It might be -- catching, or something."

"Sirius. Shut up."

"Yeah, shut up, Sirius," James echoed, scowling. "No one's stopping you from starting a club with Peter if we're cramping your style so much."

"Oh, please," said Sirius, but they noticed that he didn't make any off-colour comments for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

_I just can't believe it was all a lie_

_No man in the moon, just a big light in the sky_

_\--_ BON JOVI

Lily awoke on Wednesday morning with a deep and intrinsic feeling of dread. She tore off the bedcovers and ran into the bathroom, but her first thought -- that her spot had gone nova -- turned out to be a happily misplaced fear. The pimple was still there, pulsing slightly, but as far as she could tell it hadn't got any bigger and fortunately had not taken into its little pus-filled head to reproduce.

That meant her dread had a different source. Lily gripped the side of the sink and groaned as she remembered _exactly_ from whence it sprang.

She had Transfiguration first thing after breakfast.

Lily had meant to fix her essay, truly she had. She'd used her wand for light and scribbled out fourteen inches on Monday night -- or, rather, Tuesday morning -- but she'd been forced to stop because she kept falling asleep and poking herself in the face with her wand. It was only meant to be a draft and as such was full of scribbling, crossing-out and the odd note to herself, along the lines of _Do NOT pick spot!!_ or _Concentrate, there's no way you could use a Transfigured teapot to kill Potter_.

But on Tuesday evening there had been a Prefect's meeting, which Lily had to chair with Potter. She'd been so exhausted from preventing herself just letting loose and thumping him one for his sly little comments and incessant cracking of jokes and pulling of faces -- and worst of all the silly little fifth-years kept _laughing_ at him -- that she'd gone to take a short nap at six o'clock and woken up fully clothed at midnight.

She was toast.

And it was all Potter's fault.

No, Lily corrected herself. She was truthful to a fault. She couldn't blame it _all_ on Potter. The maths probably required some fine-tuning, but she estimated that he deserved only about, oh, ninety-five percent of the blame.

* * *

Lily found herself dragging her feet after breakfast. Jamila, who was used to having to jog to keep up with her longer-legged friend, was puzzled at having to pause several times and wait for Lily to catch up.

"What is wrong, Lilian?" she asked. "Are you ill?"

Lily almost took the chance of an alibi, but she hadn't become Head Girl through faking illnesses in order to shirk classes she hadn't prepared for. "No," she sighed. "But I never managed to finish that essay McGonagall set us for today."

Jamila's hands flew to her mouth, which was not the most reassuring of reactions. "Oh, Lily!" she gasped, not noticing that her movement had dislodged a couple of her books and a small pearl-inlaid comb from her arms, all of which were now skittering along the floor. "What happened? What were you doing yesterday evening, when Remus wrote mine for me?"

"He didn't!" exclaimed Lily.

Jamila blushed. "Well, I wrote the introduction!" she defended herself. "Also I added a very attractive border of jasmines. That is what I always do, Lilian, you know that. But it is not like you to leave an assignment uncompleted!"

"I just couldn't seem to find the time." Lily gathered up Jamila's textbooks and handed them to her. "I know, I know, I should have started it earlier -- but I probably wouldn't have got an O on my Charms project if I had."

"Fair enough, you do like Charms better," Jamila allowed. "Perhaps you should tell Professor McGonagall what happened?"

Lily shook her head. "No, she'll only think I'm making up excuses. Better to leave it, and maybe she'll let me redo it."

She noticed Potter and his gang approaching. It was too late to hurry on and beat them to the classroom, so she pressed her lips together and pretended to ignore them. Jamila, who after so long was in tune to Lily's moods, began chattering about something inconsequential as a cover.

The boys seemed to become louder when they passed the girls and even Black's swagger seemed more pronounced. Lily ground her teeth. He really was too full of himself to be borne.

Lupin halted and dropped to his knees to tie his shoelace; with yells of "Get a move on, slowcoach!" his friends preceded him up the stairs. Lily relaxed. Lupin was no threat, on his own at least.

"Excuse me," his quiet voice broke into Jamila's talk of an article in last week's _Witch Weekly,_ "does this belong to either of you?"

He held up Jamila's comb with an crooked smile.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Jamila, reaching for it. "Oh dear, I never noticed that I dropped it. It would have been an awful pity if I lost it; it belonged to my mother -- but I am rambling." She busied herself tucking the comb away into her pocket, her dark hair swinging forward to cover her red face.

Well, well, well.

Lily stared after Lupin, who, after a mumbled farewell, had made his way up the stairs at quite a pace. She wondered if he acted like that when he was tutoring Jamila; surely not. They'd never get anything done between blushes if that was the case. Perhaps it was only around other people? _That_ made sense. With friends like Lupin's, not only did you not need enemies, but it paid to be circumspect. Lily was sure she wasn't the only one who'd heard Black boasting of his exploits in great and excessive detail, and his friendly -- well, she supposed it was friendly, for lack of another term -- teasing about the rest of his friends' innocence in that area.

"You never thanked him," remarked Lily.

'What?' Jamila's head snapped up. She'd recovered from her blush, but she did not look altogether composed.

"You never thanked Remus for picking up your comb," Lily elaborated, leading the way up the stairs.

"Didn't I?" Yes, Jamila was definitely flustered. Lily was torn between amusement at her discomfiture and a vague hurt that Jamila had neglected to inform her of this _thing_ she had for Lupin. Of course, Lily had guessed that there was some partiality on Jamila's side, but she'd also taken Jamila's amused indifference at face value. So much for telling each other everything!

"Come on," said Lily, thoughts of Jamila's crush fading fast in the light of her own inevitable P grade. "We'll be late if we don't get a move on."

* * *

As per Remus' advice, James obediently investigated the talent in his Transfiguration class. He left his essay on McGonagall's desk. It was three inches over the limit, but that was nothing; Remus' was five, and Sirius' -- who put extra effort into Transfig as some kind of debt-repayment for Padfoot -- was eight. James took a seat at the back of the classroom beside Sirius.

There was one Slytherin girl in the class, an Elodie MacNair. James remembered her brother; he'd been a Slytherin prefect when James was in first year and a tyrant of the first water. He had been the only person James didn't dare to try a prank on -- well, him and the teachers, anyway. His sister didn't look like she had a much more charming personality and her hair stuck out at right angles to her head. James knew his own hair wouldn't win any prizes in the Neatness Shortlists, but at the same time it also couldn't have doubled as a wire brush.

As she felt his gaze on her, she turned around, the muscles in her thick neck rippling. She presented him with -- well, James couldn't decide if it were a grimace or a smile, but the sight of all those cracked, yellow teeth was unnerving at best. In fact, she looked like a fatter, female version of Snivellus. James shuddered and moved on.

There were a couple of Ravenclaws, generally bespectacled, sitting in a row at the front of the classroom. One of them had long, shiny brown hair. James quite fancied brunettes, in the general sense. He also liked the idea of girls who were submissive, who would allow him to shower them with expensive presents which they would then boast about to their friends, who would say things like 'James is such a wonderful boyfriend' and who look up -- _up_ , not _across_ \-- at him wearing expressions of deep adoration.

After thinking this out, James looked at Remus' bent head with new respect. He was totally correct; Lily was an aberration, nothing more.

"Who's that girl?" James whispered to Sirius, gesturing at the Ravenclaw with long brown hair.

Sirius tilted his chair back, glancing at the girl James had indicated under his long lashes. As she turned to whisper to her desk mate, Sirius' face cleared.

"Abigail Hobson," he said. "Pretty good kisser, but she wasn't really my type."

"She didn't let you feel her up," James divined. Sirius' scowl told him he was spot on.

James grinned. It would have been hard to find a girl above fifth year who hadn't had some interaction with Sirius. In Gryffindor, for example, James could only think of Patricia MacNeill, who faded into the background so much that even when seriously bored, Sirius didn't notice her, and Lily. Sirius had even kissed Jamila Vakil during a New Year's Eve game of Truth or Dare last year, a fact he was constantly rubbing in Remus' face. It didn't seem to affect Remus in the least, which was probably why Sirius kept doing it.

James was glad that Abigail hadn't gone all the way with Sirius; it meant she was still fairly pure. He watched her as she bent over the side of her desk to fetch something from her schoolbag and brushed her hair behind her ears. She had small, neat features, unlike Lily, whose eyes were huge and whose mouth was too generous for her face. James decided Abigail would do very well.

"Want me to put in a good word for you?" Sirius smirked.

"No, thank you," said James straight away. He still remembered the last time he'd allowed Sirius to put in a 'good word' for him. Sirius never revealed what it was that he'd said and of course Lily wasn't available for comment, but James still had the scars from the Biting Delphiniums Lily had 'accidentally' thrown at his head.

At that moment, two things happened: McGonagall rapped her wand on the desk to bring the class to order, and Lily and Jamila slipped in the door. James saw Lily wince as she laid her essay on the desk before taking her seat. He wondered what that was about. Not that he at the slightest chance of ever finding out, of course. He'd often tried talking to Jamila about Lily. As Jamila was permanently polite, she had allowed him to ask questions, but her answers had always been vague and she was always on the point of dashing off to finish a very important essay.

Honestly, James thought, as Lily bent her head towards Jamila and smiled at something she said, he couldn't fathom what on earth he'd seen in Lily. Not only was she a wailing shrew -- at least in James' experience -- but she wasn't even that pretty. Oh, her eyes were an unusual deep-green colour and her cheeks had a way of going pink and showing up her freckles when she read aloud in class that made James wonder where his breath had gone, but apart from that, she was nothing special. Nothing that, say, Abigail Hobson wouldn't easily succeed in making him forget.

He wondered if Abigail liked teddy bears.

* * *

Lily had been expecting a reprimand from McGonagall concerning her essay on Friday, when she next had Transfiguration. Therefore, when McGonagall asked her to meet her in her office after class on Thursday, she assumed it was something to do with the Headship.

It wasn't.

"Sit down, Lily," said McGonagall. "Would you like a ginger biscuit?"

"Um, yes, thank you," replied Lily. McGonagall smiled and proffered a tin with a tartan lid. Lily selected a biscuit and began to munch on it, hoping she wasn't making too much noise.

"I called you here to discuss your latest essay," said McGonagall without preamble, and Lily choked. "I expect you know that it is not up to your usual standard?"

"I do," said Lily, when she had sorted out her rebellious oesophagus. "And -- well, there is no excuse for it."

"No," agreed McGonagall. "But there is, perhaps, an explanation?"

"Yes. I was rather distracted by my Charms project and I found that the time just slipped away, what with Prefect meetings and so on."

"Filius -- Professor Flitwick, I should say -- informed me that you received an O for that project," said McGonagall. Lily nodded, trying not to smile in pride. "That is excellent work. However, I notice that in your whole career at Hogwarts, you have never received an O in Transfigurations. You tend to hover between an E and an A."

"I --" Lily began, but McGonagall was still talking.

"You clearly have a great deal of ability, Lily," she continued. "I would like to see it utilised more universally, however. I am certain that it is within your capabilities to get an O in your Transfiguration NEWT, if you applied yourself."

"Oh, I don't --" Lily tried again, but this time McGonagall's gimlet glare prevented her sentence from reaching fruition.

"I think perhaps all you need is a little more encouragement," said McGonagall. "Now, generally I only recommend tutors to those students who are lagging behind the rest of the class. In this case, however, I think a little extra tuition would pay dividends for you too, in that it would enable you to reach your full potential. I would offer to do it myself, but unfortunately I am fully occupied with my other duties as Deputy Headmistress."

Lily saw that there was only one way this was going to go and in desperation she attempted to guide it into less potentially disturbing waters. "Remus Lupin --"

"Is, for the moment, completely occupied with several other students," said McGonagall. "Among them, your friend Jamila Vakil, who I am quite certain would be failing my class were it not for his _excellent_ aid. Keeping half-a-dozen people from failing is quite a task in itself, even putting aside the fact that Mr Lupin is taking six NEWT-level subjects of his own." She paused and regarded Lily over the top of her glasses. Lily felt an acute sense of foreboding.

"On the other hand," McGonagall continued, "we are very -- ah -- _lucky_ to have two other exceptional students in your class, one of whom has no demands on his time apart from Quidditch. Now," she consulted what looked like a roll book, "I see that Sirius Black has consistently received top marks in my class. If you have no objection, I will send him an owl asking him to visit me and discuss tutoring you. Do you? Have an objection, that is."

"No," said Lily miserably.

"Wonderful," said McGonagall, her voice brisk. "Your first task together can be to rewrite this essay --" She indicated something Lily recognised as her own, crumpled essay, now adorned with a large encircled P in red ink "-- to an acceptable, if not an Outstanding, standard."

"Yes, Professor," said Lily, retrieving the sheaf of parchment. "Was there anything else?"

"No-o," said McGonagall, frowning. "You are -- getting along all right with Mr Potter, aren't you?" She looked quite anxious. "As Head Girl, I mean."

"Um," said Lily, keen to be diplomatic. It left her in something of a quandary as regards continuing the conversation. "Well, we're -- getting along as well as we ever did."

"Right. Well. That's good, then," said McGonagall, although she didn't sound convinced. Lily, recalling some of the notes she had scrawled on the very essay that she had in her hand, blushed.

McGonagall turned to neatening the piles of marking on her desk and Lily took it that she was dismissed. As she put her hand on the door handle, though, McGonagall spoke again.

"James Potter is a very trying boy," she said. Lily spun around in surprise. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at her. "Don't think I haven't noticed what he's put you through all these years."

Lily started to feel angry. "You mean to say you _knew_ , and --"

"And I did nothing," McGonagall finished for her. She nodded. "There are bullies and there are bullies, Lily. Some are genuinely cruel, like Sn -- like those people who have been bullied themselves and are now taking out their own pain on others. Then there are people like James, who are rather spoiled and accustomed to getting their own way. They have been so used to being right and popular and, dare I say, good-looking, that they couldn't imagine how someone else's comments could make them feel like they weren't all of those things."

Lily bit her lip. She was torn between rage and tears. McGonagall was looking at her in something like sympathy.

"There was a reason we chose James instead of the more obvious candidates, like Remus," she said. "Of course, James is a terrible troublemaker, but on occasion he has demonstrated a sense of responsibility that is rare and which, I'm afraid, his friends seem to lack. The other considerations were that a little bit of leadership would be the making of him. It's early days yet, but one day or another I'm sure he'll come to his senses. And a little while after that, you'll get the apology he owes you."

"I still don't understand why," said Lily, her voice trembling. "Why you let him --"

"Perhaps I thought it was something other than it was," sighed McGonagall. She took off her glasses and massaged the sharp bridge of her nose. "I have been a teacher for a long time, and a human being for longer. James is not the sort of person given to deep introspection. Not only would he not realise how stinging his remarks can be, at least for the most part, but he would not realise why he acted so."

"It's because he's a git!" Lily burst out, before she could stop herself. Fortunately, McGonagall only smiled.

"Yes. I think that may be _one_ of the reasons," she admitted. "But I charge you, Lily, because you are the stronger one, to make sure that your Headship does not descend into petty squabbling and revenge. I know it is much to ask of you, but this is one of the things you -- possibly unknowingly -- bought in for when you accepted the position. You must unite or fall. You could make a very effective partnership, if you both put aside your differences. But, Lily, I fear the effort will have to be all on your side at first."

Lily looked down at her essay. The large red P stared back at her.

What had her first thoughts been on finding out who the Head Boy was? _Oh shit._ They had turned out to be prophetic thus far. McGonagall was right, though. Lily was the bigger person in all this. She'd have to have been, to put up with Potter's taunting all those years.

Anyway, she wasn't going to let Potter _beat_ her.

"I promise I'll make more of an effort," she said, and McGonagall breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I knew you'd make us proud," she said. "You'd better get to bed now, though. It wouldn't do to set the rest of the school a bad example."

"Of course not," replied Lily. "Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Lily."

* * *

Minerva waited ten minutes, helping herself to a ginger biscuit or three. As the clock chimed nine, a knock came at the door; a single one, as if the knocker was saying, 'I'm only putting in the minimum amount of effort here and if you don't answer, it's your loss.'

Amazing, how even his knock could set your teeth on edge. Minerva shook her head.

"Come in, Sirius," she called.

Sirius slouched into the room, his hands stuck deep in the pockets of those new-fangled Muggle trousers, and shut the door with his foot. He had taken to wearing his robes open at the neck, showing clearly that he was wearing nothing underneath them except skin and those jean things. Minerva would have loved to pull him on it, but sadly there was nothing in the school rules that specifically stated that Sirius Black couldn't wander around the school looking like someone who should wear a sign saying 'Ravish at your own risk.'

He slid into a chair and flung his legs over the side, looking up at Minerva with smoky eyes and long sooty eyelashes that he fluttered to maximum effect. Minerva rolled her own eyes. If it weren't for all the rumours about the broom sheds and the broom cupboards and the abandoned classrooms that floated up to the staff quarters on a regular basis, Minerva would have thought Sirius ridiculously effete. As it was, she hoped Lily could handle him. Lily didn't seem the sort to be easily brought down by wiles, as her repeated rejection of James Potter's advances proved, but Sirius was sneaky. Not to mention persistent.

"Professor," he drawled, making the title sound like something that belonged in a harem, much as Sirius himself did. "You required my -- ah -- services?"

"Indeed I did, Mr Black,' said Minerva. "But before we begin, remove your legs from the arm of my chair and sit up properly. That's it. Good boy."

Strangely enough, treating him like a pet dog worked wonders. Sirius looked sulky, but obeyed.

"I called you here to see if you would be available to provide Transfiguration tuition for other students, rather Mr Lupin does," said Minerva. Sirius' eyes lit up.

"What, like all those pretty little birds Moo -- Remus teaches?" said Sirius. "Or says he teaches, anyway," he added under his breath. Most regrettably for him, Minerva had superb hearing. She frowned.

"Mr Lupin has undertaken to provide academic aid to some of the younger years," she corrected him, her tone icy. "Many of whom, I hasten to point out, are boys, and _none_ of whom sport any detectable ornithological qualities. Nor is it, I must inform you, an informal dating service. If you are not prepared to provide actual help in the subject, I beg you would say so now, and stop wasting both our time."

Sometimes, just sometimes, you hit the tiny nerve that was Sirius' warped and truculent sense of honour. He sat up straighter. "I'm sorry. No, I wouldn't mind doing some tutoring. I like Transfiguration."

Minerva eyed him, but for a wonder he seemed genuine. "Very well. For the moment I only have one student for you, but if that works out I may just see about providing you with more. It will, of course, be added to your record that you partook in this of your own free will and in your own time. It is the sort of thing employers look favourably upon. But -- and I will only say this once, Black -- mess it up and there will be no second chances."

"I understand," said Sirius. After a pause during which Minerva inspected his face minutely, he asked, "Who is it?"

"Lily Evans," said Minerva.

Sirius' face dropped. Minerva was almost certain that the words 'No _way_!' were hovering just above his vocal chords, but to his everlasting credit all he said was, "But, Professor, I thought she was a good student."

"She is," agreed Minerva. "I want her to be an brilliant student. All she needs is a little further coaching, and --" She tried one of Sirius' smirks on for size "-- she'll be giving you and James a run for your money."

"Oh. Right." Sirius looked down at his lap and muttered, "Prongs is going to _die_."

"What was that?" demanded Minerva.

"Oh, nothing, Professor," said Sirius, sending her a sweet smile. "When do you want us to start?"

"This weekend, preferably," said Minerva. "Now, I don't want to cut too much into your own study time -- or, should I say, your Quidditch practice time. I think an hour or two should be sufficient, once a week, say?"

Sirius nodded. "I'll have a chat to Evans tomorrow."

"Good. Thank you, Sirius. You may go now."

Minerva told herself she was only imagining the Indian-style war-whoop she heard a few seconds after the door closed behind him. All the same, she paid a visit to her liquor cabinet, to give the little dissenting voice who wondered what on earth she'd just done something to drown in.

* * *

'PRONGS!' roared Sirius. 'PRONGSIE, OLD BOY! WHERE ARE YOU?'

"I'm right bloody here," said James grumpily. He emerged tufty-headed from under a huge pile of blankets. "What the hell is wrong with you? Did someone put a Sonorus Charm on you or something?"

"No, nothing like that," said Sirius, throwing himself across James' bed. "Guess where I've just been!"

"Do I have to?" said James, wincing.

"Fine, I'll tell you. McGonagall's office!"

James stared at him in utter disbelief. "No. No _way_ , Padfoot! You _didn't_!"

"Oh, that." Sirius frowned and shook his head. "No. Not yet, anyway. Give me time. We've still got another year."

It was James' turn to shake his head. "That is basically disgusting, Sirius my old sod."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," retorted Sirius.

James hit him over the head with a pillow. "I don't want to try anything with McGonadgoggles, thanks very much. I'd prefer to leave Hogwarts _without_ that mental scarring."

"Well, anyway," Sirius dismissed his comments, "guess who I'm tutoring every Saturday from now on?"

"I don't know," said James. "This is the part where you're supposed to tell me."

"I'll give you a clue," said Sirius. "Who's the one person it would be funniest for me to tutor?"

James stared at him wide-eyed. "Oh my god, Padfoot. You're tutoring _Snape_?"

"No!" shrieked Sirius. "I'm useless at Potions anyway, remember? He'd need to tutor _me_. No, you twit." He picked up the pillow and stuffed it under his chin. " _Lily."_

James felt something drop inside his stomach, but he resolutely ignored it. "Lily Evans?"

"No, Lily Rhys-Davies." Sirius rolled his eyes. "Of course, Lily Evans."

"Why?" James managed. "She's not failing anything. Is she?"

"Dunno." Sirius shrugged. "But McGonadgoggles wants me to help her reach her 'full potential', or some crap like that." He sniggered unpleasantly and turned to face James. "So?"

"So what?"

"Are you jealous?"

James laughed. It was a bit of an effort. "Of course I'm not. I'm planning to ask out Abigail Hobson. Why would I be jealous that you're tutoring Lily? Besides, from what Moony says it's really boring."

"It is the way he does it," said Sirius, his mouth curling. "So you really don't mind?"

"No, I don't!"

"And you wouldn't mind if I shagged her senseless after hours in the Transfig classroom?"

"Don't be stupid, Padfoot." James laughed. "Lily wouldn't let you do that."

"But if I did, you wouldn't mind?" Sirius persisted.

"No, I wouldn't! Okay?"

"Yes," said Sirius, sounding satisfied. He rolled onto his back.

"Why?" James felt moved to ask. He didn't like the look on Sirius' face. It was altogether too calculating. " _Are_ you going to try something with her? Padfoot?"

"I thought you didn't mind?"

"I don't," said James, but it was clear that he didn't sound sufficiently convincing because Sirius refused to answer. Even when James started pelting him with pillows.

When Remus came upstairs, they were both fast asleep on James' bed, curled up and snoring like two puppies. All the beds had been ruthlessly plundered of pillows, which were now lying in disarray on the floor. One had even made it as far as the bathtub.

Remus shook his head and stretched himself out on his own bed with a book. After a while, he fished a white chocolate truffle from his pocket and removed the Wienrich and Boettcher wrapping. He ate it slowly as he read, savouring the rare silence.


End file.
